


on a rooftop over london

by entirelymental



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band), Rock Music RPF
Genre: 70s, Fluff, I'm Bad At Titles, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Fluff, Non-Graphic Smut, Pining, Secret Crush, This Is STUPID, To Be Edited, [mr brightside voice] how did it end up like this, this was supposed to be so much shorter what the hell, wingman john deacon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 22:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entirelymental/pseuds/entirelymental
Summary: Its New Years Eve and Brian has been reflecting on the many ups and downs he's had this year. But there's just one thing that he's been wishing for all year — or perhaps even longer than that — that he hasn't gotten yet. Roger tries to figure out exactly what it is.





	on a rooftop over london

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been a huge fan of Queen, but (obviously) with the release of Bohemian Rhapsody, I've been COMPLETELY up the bands ass for the past few weeks. Anyways, here ya go. And here I am, two years later, coming out of my cage and doing just fine. 
> 
> It is mentioned in the story, but please note that this takes place in 1978, and that I wrote it with the original members of Queen in mind. Although, if you substitute Gwilym and Ben, I'm definitely not complaining. There's also some minor grammatical errors, but I'll clean those up later... eventually. Happy reading!

_London, England._

_New Years Eve, 1978_

_On a rooftop in London_

_11:52 p.m._

 

Brian looks forward to New Year’s Eve.

No, he’s not just referring to the parade of noise and debauchery going on at whatever party Freddie’s decided to host – although that could be part of it, Freddie does know how to throw a rager or two after all – but he is mostly appreciative of the fact that he’s that much closer to starting over again on the fresh page of a new year.

 

It isn’t like he consistently has year after bad year and is excited to just finally get on with the new year. No, no, it isn’t like anything like that at all. There’s just something about getting the chance to start over again that sits right with him. Brian can’t help but fondly think of all the great successes and failures that were awarded to him and the band this year: after many sleepless nights in the studio, they finally dropped _Jazz_. After much bickering and bantering between the boys for whose songs got to be featured this time, they finally picked and worked furiously on their track list. Brian was quite proud of their work. Even if the critics didn’t like it much, the fans sure as hell did, if their reactions and singing-back on the subsequent tour were anything to go by.

 

And the tour was something else. With an even larger budget for clothes and costumes, their current get-ups were eccentric and very very fitting. Not to mention, their current stage setup was by far the most well-received and loved by the four of them. It was over-the-top (literally) lighting, theatrics, with their new album providing a wild enough sound to pair alongside with it. They loved everything about it. It was fundamentally everything they felt the band should represent.

 

On the downside (or upside, depending on how one looks at it) Deaky was officially the only member of Queen still in a relationship, as the rest of the boys finally decided to call it quits on their respective relationships.

 

Brian had thought it would hurt more, finally breaking things off with Chrissy. But when it happened, he found himself to be more relieved than anything else. He remembered the conversation; she had said all she needed to say, as did he, and the split couldn’t have been more amicable. It was by definition a perfect breakup. It felt like the end of an era, however, and Brian knew that as inevitable as it was, he would miss her. Any man would be lucky to have her.

 

“And any man would be lucky to have you, Brian May,” he recalled her saying, jokingly, through the tears in her eyes. Brian stifled a laugh, emotion caught in his throat. He knew she meant the remark jokingly, but the way her gaze lingered on him during it made him wonder if she knew more than she was letting on.

 

Chrissy did get to know him better than anyone else, after all, so maybe she knew about Brian before even he did. Just like Mary with Freddie, he supposed.

 

He had yet to come to terms with it, being out but not being _out_ out. Not in the out, at least, to the level of Freddie. In some ways, he was a bit jealous of the bands showman. Not only was Freddie unflinchingly flamboyant without a care in the world, but he could still enjoy trysts from both sides of the field. Man, woman, Freddie loved 'em all.

 

Brian was plainer in comparison; he liked boys, and that was that.

 

Looking back on the overall year, he simultaneously smiled and felt more tired than he’d ever felt in his whole life. Physically, he was granted that right. Had they not been allowed a small window to breathe before continuing with the European leg of their tour, Brian was sure he and the rest of the boys would’ve fainted from exhaustion right there on stage during the next gig.

 

As for emotionally and mentally, he had been handed these revelations about himself and they were life-changing. Of course, as glad as he was to have them, they still took a toll on him. He wasn't quite ready to handle the reaction of his bandmates, so he kept them in the dark and himself in the closet. Of course he knew he'd have their support, as  they supported their leader singer when he came out. But he knew once it was out there, there was no taking it back. There were far too many things to consider. 

 

But right now, just standing on the rooftop of their hotel, overlooking London as the city collectively waits to ring in the New Year, his problems felt smaller. It’s exactly the relaxation his body and mind have been craving for.

 

“’Oy, there you are!” Called out a familiar voice from behind.

 

Brian tensed up at the sound of that voice; he didn’t have to look behind him, he’d recognize that it anywhere. “Looking for me were you, Roger?”

 

The blonde smiled and sauntered forward, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. “Needed to take a break from all the ruckus Freddie’s got going on downstairs is all,”

 

“I’ll bet.”

 

Roger sidled up next to his taller friend, and together, the two looked over the landscape of the city.  The London Eye was in clear view, the lights in the buildings dazzling and luminescent. For a minute or two, the duo just stood there watching it all, internally wondering what was going on the households of everyone else around them.

 

Brian could feel Roger’s arm press up against his arm and was quietly grateful for the noise hammering beneath them. There was a greater chance Roger could confuse the thumping of his heart with the thumping of the bassline below. He internally reprimanded himself for not being able to keep his cool around his long-time best mate, but when Roger stood there, so cool and gorgeous in his new coat, hair bristling in the wind, he couldn't help it.

 

“Why _are_ you up here, anyways?”

 

The question snapped Brian out of his thoughts. “Nothing. Just reflecting, y’know.” He paused, looking at the drummer from the corner of his eye. “We’ve had another hell of a year. I _am_ glad to be back home for a bit, at least, before we go through the rest of Europe.”

 

Next to him, Roger nodded his head.

 

“Yeah, I’ve missed it too.”

 

Brian was a little surprised. “Have you? I would’ve thought going around the world, touring, selling out venues, meeting the occasional girl,” He jokingly jabbed Roger with his elbow on the last bit, for good measure. “was the ultimate dream.”

 

“Of course! Of course, I love it. Who wouldn’t?” Roger scoffed, laughing and rolling his eyes before looking at Brian. The guitarist’s chest caved in accordingly. “But uh… it’s like that old movie – the one with the Wizard and the girl with the red shoes, you know the one – there’s no place like home.”

 

Brian nodded. He didn’t think of home too often, but when he did, a swell of homesickness always came along with it. Looking down from the rooftop onto the streets below, seeing the bustling of party-goers and cars prowling by, he was able to recall fondly the memories of ages before: when he was still young and dumb enough to think he could ever become a Rockstar. When he, Roger, and Tim, first formed Smile and played through various gigs at school and at local pubs, hoping for just the right stroke of luck. It was an innocent time between three scheming, dreaming friends.

 

When he wrote _Leaving Home Ain’t Easy_ for the new album, he kept these memories in mind. He thought of his passion for music, all the foolish dreams he quietly held to himself about seeing the world, and he thought of Freddie, John, and Roger.

 

Especially Roger.

 

Roger, his peer. Roger, his drummer. Roger, his best mate.

 

Roger, his… something else.

 

“You’re so serious, Bri.” The blonde chirped, interrupting Brian’s thought process with a slight nudge to the arm. “It’s the end of a year, not the world, you know.”

 

Brian couldn’t help but utter a small laugh. He could feel the soft brush of Roger’s arm against his, and for a few brief moments, the grand scope of London was reduced to just two best friends standing on top of a rooftop on New Year’s Eve.

 

The problem was, one of them maybe wanted something more.

 

_11:55 p.m._

 

He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe it was around the same time he realized he was gay, maybe it was after even that, but something deep down told him the feeling was always there. Tucked away, waiting for Brian to unearth it and marvel at its obviousness. He thought of all the stolen glances, the way he seemed to always laugh just a little extra at Roger’s remarks—no matter how unfunny they were—and all the other unspoken moments in between.

 

Of course, he loved him. He had always been in love with his best mate. He was just the last person to know.

 

“Brian, you’re staring at me.”

 

Well, maybe not _the_ last.

 

“Sorry, got lost in my head again.” Brian tried to play it off, sheepishly reaching for the back of his mess of curls with a hand.

 

Roger continued, “It’s alright.” He paused, before nudging his friend again. “You know, I don't know if this'll make you feel better, but you never know what 1979 is going to bring. Who knows, we might even take on that Disco sound Deaky and Freddie have been going on about,” He and Brian made a reflexive shudder at the thought before chuckling off the notion.

 

“Speaking of, where are they now?”

 

“Last I saw, Deaky was with Veronica trying to convince Freddie not to swing from the chandelier. Judging from the lack of sound of broken crystals and screaming, it’s my guess that they succeeded.” 

 

The image brought a smile to Brian’s lips, and he looked off into the sky as he thought about it.

 

“Ah, I knew you were capable of smiling, you old fossil.” Roger teased beside him and succeeded in making Brian’s smile even larger. He kept looking at the guitarist, and for a few moments, the man made himself look at the ground – afraid he’d give himself away far too easily if he looked his bandmate in the eyes again. “Say,” Rog began, “And be honest with me, right? For a moment,” He paused, looked out of the corner of his eyes for a few moments, and began again. “What were you really doing out here? You know you can tell me anything.”

 

Brian sucked in a deep breath of air – something hard to do, in the bitter cold – and collected his thoughts. “Well,” He started, still not quite looking at Roger, who had suddenly given him all his attention. “We’ve come so far, haven’t we? Much farther than anyone of us, except Freddie of course, could’ve ever expected. And it’s all good and grand, and I’m not complaining or anything…”

 

Roger arched an eyebrow, “So, what’s the problem then?”

 

“Well,” He opened his mouth, and felt himself unable to get the words out. They were there, oh they were absolutely there, but for some reason, Brian couldn’t get them out.

 

“Well, I’ll be,” Roger said in mock amazement, “A near-doctor in Astrophysics, who pours out his heart through music, but can’t open up to his best mate.”

 

Brian laughed, knowing Roger was merely taking the piss. “I just mean, we’ve been on such a high, and while I’m grateful for it, I’m sort of nervous too. Who knows what’s going to happen next year, hell, if we’re still relevant next year.” He tried to play off his doubts with a quick shrugging of the shoulders. “You know, I used to think the music was a temporary thing, and eventually I’d marry Chrissy, finish my PhD, and go off write some more dissertations about the cosmos, like Fred said. Now, I just don't know...” Brian paused, crossing his arms and looking off into the night sky. He was so lost in thought he failed to see Roger bristle a little at the mention of his former love. He continued, “Everything’s so different now. Sometimes I just want to bottle up moments like these,” He made a general looping gesture with his fingers, referring to the space around him “and live in them, if that makes sense. Before it all changes for better or worse, again.”

 

Roger stood next to him, quiet, absorbing the information and gazing at the man quite intently. Perhaps a bit too intently for Brian’s comfort. Roger’s blue eyes seemed to bore into him and he felt like a frog trapped underneath the biologist’s observant gaze.

 

“I know exactly what you mean,” said the drummer, almost too quiet for Brian to catch.

 

“You do?” Brian asked, as equally quiet, leveling his eyes to Roger’s.

_11:59 p.m._

 

The party, which up until this point had been rhythmically bumping beneath their boots, was beginning to hush down. A sign that the New Year was coming.

 

(Somewhere below them, Freddie shouted at the crowd, “Quiet, you motherfuckers! I want to hear what she’s saying!” obviously referring to some woman on the telly.)

“Yeah, I mean… there’s no telling what’s going to happen to Queen next year, or the year after that, or the year after that, or tomorrow even, yeah?” Roger said, half-laughing to himself, and looking down at his boots. “I’ve thought about it a handful of times myself. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy the present while we’ve got it, you know what I mean?” He looked up again at the curly haired guitarist, making sure he got the breadth of what he was saying. “Queen's got a good enough track record now that I'm not worried in the slightest what'll happen because we've already done our part now. However, if it's the band itself you're worried for–" He shook his head, a crooked smile on his lips. "I’m not scared of that either. So long as I’ve got Freddie, Deaky, and you, by my side.”  

 

The eye contact was making Brian far too nervous. A rush of affection for Roger came suddenly, and the guitarist felt nearly lightheaded at his mate’s words and their meaning.

 

_So long as I’ve got Freddie, Deaky, and you by my side._

_You by my side._

 

He could feel his stomach making leaps and bounds, flowers were blooming somewhere beneath his ribcage and Brian was powerless to stop it. But he forced himself to reel it back in; Roger couldn’t have possibly meant it the way Brian quietly hoped he had meant it. It was best to minimize the impact of Roger's words before he could allow himself to hope.

 

“Thank you, Roger. That does make me feel a little better,” He mused quietly, hoping not to sound too crestfallen with his next words. “but that sentimentality makes me think you’re a little drunk.”

 

“Brian I’m not—” He started, before cutting himself off with a shake of the head. He looked down for a few moments, seemingly collecting his next few words carefully. “Look, you've been my best mate for over a decade now, haven’t you? So I think it's time I should say this, and I think you should really pay attention to me…”

 

The counting had begun behind them in the hotel, and seemingly, within the whole damned city, as the collective chorus of voices around them in London began poking their heads out of windows, shouting out the seconds left to go in the year. It was throwing Roger way out of his rhythm. His hesitation was interloped with the voices around him, and even Brian was hard-pressed trying to find a way to follow Roger’s words with the commotion around them.

 

“We’ve all always been there for each other. Even when Queen was just a nothing local band, and you and Deaky were in school, and Fred and I were selling the clothes off our backs to make ends meet, we were four mates always there for one another. Through thick and thin, you know? And you and I especially… we’ve known each other longer than anyone else. What you and I have is special, it's good, it's… I guess what I’m _trying_ to say is that you and I have always been there for one another…”

 

“40, 39, 38, 37…”

 

Brian just stared thoughtfully at Roger as he picked his next words carefully. If Roger was about to go off on a tangent about how they'd be best mates forever, he sure was taking a while to get to the main point. He internally began doubting the comment he made about the man having too much to drink; the pensiveness and carefulness with which he was thinking his words seemed to indicate otherwise. 

 

“And as great as this year was, I know it was difficult too. With all the touring, the nights at the studio, and what happened between you and Chrissy—”

 

“No,” Brian interrupted, dismissing the topic with the wave of a hand. “Roger, I really don’t want to talk about her anymore—”

 

“But I do!” Roger cut him off with such fierceness that Brian clamped his mouth shut immediately in surprise, “I do because I remember how you said even though you knew it was coming, you still felt so broken up about it, and wondered aloud if you would ever get the chance to love someone again the way you and she loved each other.”

 

“Yes, I remember saying that.” Brian replied, still reeling a bit from shock at Roger's outburst. “What’s your point?”

 

“20, 19, 18, 17…”

 

“My point is…” Roger started, pivoting his full body to face the guitarist. “I can't stop you from worrying about the future, or what's going to happen in it, and when it'll happen. But what I do is It doesn’t matter if Queen fades, because what we’ve all got between us matters even more. And…” He shyly looked down, “And if it's Chrissy that's still got you so worked up, I just want you to know that you shouldn't have to worry about that anymore either. Even though you and Chrissy didn’t work out, I know someone out there is going to love you even more.”

 

Brian’s breath hitches in his throat. It's so sweet, it's so damned sweet of Roger, but it's a lie. He doesn't want to keep looking so doubtful of Roger's sentiment, he knows the man means well, but Roger is trying to give solace and advice for a problem that isn't really the problem at all. And the worst part of it all is that he'll never be able to tell him at the risk of ruining their relationship. So, instead, he turns his head and looks out into the night sky. 

 

Sure, maybe he’ll find love again, but not with the one person he wants so desperately for it to be.

 

“10, 9, 8, 7…”

 

“Someone out there, huh?” Brian asked, looking out at the sky above their heads.

 

“Someone out there, yeah... or, maybe even someone right here.”

He nearly gave himself whiplash.

 

The guitarist looked over at his best mate, the love of his life, with eyes that must’ve widened to the size of dinner plates. Now he could see the way Roger’s eyes looked up at him, unmistakably soft and quietly fearful. The way those eyes darted from Brian's eyes, to his lips, and then right back. It was a shocking switch from the drummer’s usual bold and unapologetic persona.

 

“6, 5, 4…”

 

“Roger?” He asked, softly.

 

“Brian…” Roger breathed.

 

 _“_ 3, 2, _1_ —”

 

Brian didn’t have a moment to reply, or think twice, or anything of the sorts. As soon as the rest of Britain reached the last number, the thunderous roll of cheers and screams beginning, and the fireworks began popping red hot into the sky all around them, Roger’s lips crashed firmly onto Brian’s.

 

There was no time to react, or calculate his next move, as Brian did with just about _everything_ he does. No time to check if he was dreaming, no time to check if Roger could suddenly read his thoughts. The blond’s lips remained on his for what felt like eons, before Roger started to pull back, his nerve suddenly leaving him cold and exposed in the mass of happiness around them.

 

For a few brief moments, the two stared at each other. Roger’s right hand ghosted over his lips, still feeling the lingering sensation of Brian's lips over them. He looked down, suddenly afraid to meet the man’s eyes.

 

“Brian, I’m sorry I shouldn’t—”

 

Roger’s apology was interrupted by Brian, who wrapped both arms around the younger man’s petite waist, pulling him back for another kiss. If Roger was surprised, it didn’t last long. He gradually closed his eyes, and melted into Brian’s embrace, breathing contently into the others mouth. Whatever this thing in between them was, or was going to be, they’d figure it out later. As for right now, he was too busy wrapping both arms around the Brian's neck, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss and arch his back in man's lithe hand. It felt like years upon years of internalized feelings and unspoken truths were withering away right before them.

 

Neither man had any idea how long the other had pined in secret.

 

Just as Roger snuck a leg around the lanky guitarist, Brian began lowering him to the ground on his back. It couldn’t have been a more frigid night to do so but Roger didn’t mind. The older man's curls seemingly concealed the world from him, as he flattened out against the ground. He could still hear the collective shouts of excitement from London, however.

 

It felt like the whole city was cheering for them.

 

Brian grunted and licked into Roger’s mouth, and took even himself by surprise by his sudden aggressiveness. He was quite known in public and private for being a mild-mannered, gentle giant. But as he grounded his body closer to Roger’s, the latter submitting to his touches, arching his back and egging him on with soft moans and breathy sighs, he couldn’t help but completely ravish him. As he moved down to plant kisses down the length of his neck, he wondered how he’d ever settled on kissing anyone before Roger, and how could he ever settle on kissing anyone else again?

 

“Brian, Brian…” Roger murmured, breathlessly.

 

“Yes?” Responded Brian, still on his neck, gradually reaching up with a hand to unbutton the first few buttons of Roger’s shirt.

 

“Before we go on – mmm, fuck that feels so good – I just wanted to say…”

 

Brian looked up, and the look of lust and desire in his eyes was gone momentarily, replaced by an expression so soft and curious it nearly rivaled the one Roger gave him just before the two jumped on each other. He sat back on his heels, straddling the drummer. “Yeah?”

 

Roger took a few seconds to catch his breath, sitting up on the backs of his elbows. He looked positively ravished; hair sticking out in different angles, shirt half-opened and half-hanging off his shoulder, lips red and slick from his and Brian’s saliva. Even the smile he was now wearing was crooked and a little bashful. All in a matter of seconds. 

 

Brian thought he’d never looked more beautiful.

 

“What is it, Roger?” He asked gently.

 

“Before we—if we—go further, I just wanted to finish what I was saying before about someone out there loving you,” His eyes met Brian’s, and he swallowed a lump of nerves in his throat. 

 

Brian waited with bated breath, as Roger collected his.

 

“Brian, I love—"

 

“Oy, are you guys still here?”

 

John-fucking-Deacon.

 

The two couldn’t have ripped themselves off one another faster if they tried. Luckily for them, the trapdoor hadn’t quite completely swung up when John came in, champagne bottle clasped in one hand, the other waving freely in the air. Both men hoped that delay with the door bought them a sufficient enough cover up.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Brian, a bit too hurriedly. “Just…” He gestured wildly towards the London landscape from where he threw himself back on the floor, now balancing on his elbows like Roger. “wanted to see the New Year rung up from here, is all.”

 

John cocked an eyebrow at both of them, “Well, you’ve missed the big countdown. Now come along, Miami’s been running from Freddie since the clock struck 12 because _someone—"_ He mentioned no names, but did shoot a pointed look at Roger, "let the cat slip out of the bag that he was going to pop champagne all over that sweet, sweet beautiful face.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna miss that,” Roger said, sounding a bit out of breath himself. He got up, dusted off his jeans, and started making his way to the stairs beneath the trapdoor. Not before, of course, stopping to envelope John in a hug, “Happy New Years, Deaks.”

 

“You too, Rog. Looking a bit flustered tonight, aren’t we?”

 

Roger let go of the man, and laughed nervously, discreetly tugging his shirt back onto his shoulder. “Brian?” Roger turned back, “You coming?”

 

“Y-yeah, yeah.” Brian reassured him. “I’ll be there in a second,”

 

Roger nodded his head, trying to be nonchalant. “Okay,” He turned to John, “I’ll probably just…wish everyone a Happy New Year, and go to the bedroom, and turn in for the night, I suppose.” He faked a yawn, “I am sort of tired, you know.”

 

Brian wryly smiled, knowing the last part was meant for him, not John.

 

“Oh, really?” Asked the bassist in mock concern, eyes flicking over to Brian wickedly and then back to Roger, taking in the blond’s disheveled appearance and breathlessness. It was like watching the gears turning in the mans head. He knew, of course he knew.

 

However, John Deacon, ever the wingman and all-around-best-person-alive, continued, “Well, I overheard Freddie saying he was going to take the party back to Elton’s anyways, and Ronnie’s a huge fan of him, yeah? So, I think we’ll be going that way pretty soon.” He turned to Brian and cocked his head innocently, “You wouldn’t mind making sure Roger doesn’t get into all the bottles we have strung around, do you Brian? It's a hard task, but I think you could do it. I know these parties aren’t really your scene, anyways.”

 

Brian gawked, mouth opening and closing his mouth. “I, uh, yeah, yeah… no problem.”

 

“Good on you, mate.” John said, smiling much too knowingly at Brian for his liking, even though he knew Brian and Roger were going to be thanking him in the coming morning. He and Roger turned around and made their way down the stairs, the latter slinging an arm around the former and gently shaking him. Brian knew it was Roger showing his appreciation, and hoped he was doing it for them both.

 

He also could’ve sworn he saw Roger trying to bite back a smile on his way back in.

 

* * *

 

 

_London, England_

_New Years Day, 1979_

_In Roger Taylor’s bed_

_4:56 a.m._

 

Brian had seen Roger undressed before. He’d seen all his bandmates undressed before. With what they did, the rapid constant costume changes, clothes fittings, living together on a single tour bus for months at a time, he’d been up-close and personal with the boys for quite some time now.

 

Obviously, given his latent feelings for Roger, however, he’d allow his mind to wander: imagining his best mate undressed before him in a context outside of costume fittings or getting ready for a show. He kept these daydreams and fantasies to himself, though he knew the real thing must've been a thousand times more perfect than anything even his bright mind could ever think to imagine.

 

He was definitely right about that last part.

 

“I think we should order room service, don’t you think?”

 

Nothing in his wildest, futile dreams could’ve prepared him for the sight of his best mate, the love of his life, completely surrendered and open to him. Roger, ever the wild card of the group, suddenly timid and cautious as he peeled back the clothes on Brian’s and his body in between kisses, pausing to ask him if this was okay, that if he wanted them to stop, they could. He let Brian completely take charge, and it was such a switch of personalities for them both, but neither man seemed to have any qualms about it.

 

“What are you in the mood for? Lemon garlic Orzo? Honey garlic cauliflower? Vegetarian French onion soup? Why, we could get all three if you’d like.”

 

He had come to see Roger’s body in a new light and context; the blemish free porcelain skin, now sweating, writhing, and twisting beneath Brian’s, as the older man pressed him into the mattress. The way the muscles in his back, torso, arms, and legs, typically sheathed and hidden behind leather pants and exuberant stage-wear, flexed and tightened whenever Brian thrusted just right. The hands that Brian had become accustomed to seeing whacking away on the drums, gripping his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin with each gasping pump.

 

“Those all sound delicious. But, you know, I think they might be closed.”

 

And there was the voice. _God, that voice_.

 

If fans thought they knew how Roger’s falsetto sounded from the radio, they were kidding themselves. Like everything else he did, he threw himself in a hundred and ten percent over what was necessary. Not that Brian wasn’t complaining. The man sure knew how to put that falsetto to good use. Every last scream, moan, or sigh, was music to his ears. Brian never wanted him to use that voice for anything other than his name ever again.

 

“Well, that’s just absurd! We’re rockstars, we should have 24/7 room service.”

 

But even all that wasn’t the best part of it all. It was what came after.

 

After the last round (and there were several rounds, much to the delight of both men), when Brian finished and pulled himself out of Roger, who was slick and filthy and positively exhausted by this point, the younger man rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes. Brian had thought this was the drummer’s way of asking for one more shag, but the guitarist leaned in and realized that Roger was falling asleep. The rise and fall of his back seemed to indicate so, at least.

 

He looked so angelic, the way his eyelashes brushed against the skin beneath his eyes ever so softly. Or the way his lips, previously red and kiss-swollen, gradually returned to their soft pink hue and puffed out a bit against the white pillow. Hair, unkempt and wild, sticking out in different directions. Roger would hate it if he knew Brian was internally comparing him to a cherub; in spite of the evening they had just shared, his face was still able to return to a face of such innocence and pristine.

 

Brian was falling in love all over again.

 

“You’re right,” He chuckled, tightening his arms around Roger, who was currently laying against his bare chest, absentmindedly tracing circles against the man’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely right.”

 

He pressed his lips against the top of Roger’s head, giving him a kiss so firm that Roger jokingly started swatting at him to let go. There was no malice behind the act, however, and Roger started giggling, his legs kicking at Brian's legs from where they were beneath the white linen covers, as the older man started planting kisses all over his head and face.

 

Brian planted one last kiss on Roger’s cheek before craning his neck to get a good look at him. His best mate, his drummer, the love of his life.

 

He was, finally, all his.

 

“What are you thinking of now?” Asked Roger, a wry smile on his lips, slightly suspicious.

 

“Nothing, I’ve just got a good feeling is all.”

 

“Oh? Of what?”

 

“I think this is gonna be a good year.”

**Author's Note:**

> cut to me: *screaming into my fucking pillow* 
> 
> I DID IT KIDS!
> 
> (if you stuck into the v end, ily ok)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
